Regan flipped to each arrow and scrawled her name. Took one copy and put it facedown next to her—she didn’t want to look at it—and put the other two in the designated envelope, sealed it, and walked down to the mailbox at the end of the long driveway. Their road was private, remote. Twenty minutes to campus, but it felt like they were in the middle of nowhere. Only a few other people lived in this idyllic area, and she didn’t see anyone, only a few houses set far up their own driveways, partly hidden by tall pine and juniper.

Regan retrieved that day’s mail and stuffed the envelope in the box, then walked back up the driveway.

There was nothing left between her and Grant. When Chase was gone, they both realized that their son was all that had bound them together for the last few years. Why couldn’t she have seen it before? Would it have even made a difference?

Dammit! She would have stayed married to Grant forever if it could bring Chase back to life. He shouldn’t be dead!

She walked into the house and screamed as loud as she could. All the pain, all the frustration and anger, and deep, unyielding sorrow at her life over the last eight months streaming out on a wave of sound so loud that she almost scared herself. When she was done, the silence surprised her. Her throat was raw, and she wiped away tears.

Well, damn. She wasn’t a crier. She had cried just twice after Chase was killed. The night he was killed, though those tears were constrained: she’d forced herself to cut them off even though it physically pained her.

Then, after the funeral.

Regan had just buried her baby boy. Ten years old. In his baseball uniform because he loved baseball more than anything. With his mitt and the ball he caught at a Nationals game signed by Bryce Harper. A collector’s item now because the player was no longer with the team.

She’d had dry eyes all day. Her dad, brothers, and sister wanted to come home with her, but she said no.

She regretted that.

She’d found them a weeklong rental. She should have gone with them. She knew that Grant was no longer her husband, except in name. She knew it was over, but they had just buried their boy. He had held her hand. And for a while, she thought that maybe...maybe...they would find a way to get through this.

He slammed the door. His tears were real, pain and anger rolled together. For all of Grant’s faults, he’d loved their son.

He’d once loved her.

She reached for him. Tried to push aside what he said one week ago, when Chase was shot and killed by a man who she had once apprehended.